


Fatigue

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4707872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil luxuriates in Kíli’s snuggling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fatigue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Kili likes to cuddle after sex” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8973.html?thread=19143181#t19143181).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He isn’t particularly surprised to return to the sight of Kíli tightly hugging his pillow, burrowing into it and sniffing lewdly, writhing under the sheets like he still has energy to spare. No matter how rigorously Thranduil uses him, Kíli still craves _this_ , and as soon as he senses that Thranduil’s returned from the washroom, he rolls over with a tired grin. 

He’s sleepy, worn out and ridden ragged, but he still murmurs, “ _Thranduil_ ,” around his yawn. He paws at one eye and reaches out with the other arm, as though Thranduil has anywhere else to be than his grand bed with his sordid lover. When he first sought this little bundle of delights, it just seemed a clever move politically, binding Erebor to him and wholly worth the fury on Thorin’s face and the flushed but hungry look on Kíli’s. Now, sleeping alone seems a distant, tragic thing, and he sweeps towards the bed like Kíli’s song is calling him. 

He slips beneath the sheets, as naked as his lover and not bothering to pull them any higher—he enjoys the look of _Kíli_ too much, especially sweat-slicked and still red from exertion. Dwarves are stout and thick and hardier than Thranduil once gave them credit for. But Thranduil is immortal and patient and shows no mercy, because his vivacious kitten asks for none, and it shows in the way Kíli still breathes hard and slumps with all his weight. He’s never passed out straight after lovemaking. He always does this first. But he looks on the verge of it, and each laboured breath stirs Thranduil’s fondness more. 

Kíli surrenders the pillow to cuddle up to Thranduil instead, like Legolas used to do with the small fawn Thranduil once brought home and allowed to sleep in his prince’s bed. It’s cute, in a similar way, but beautiful in a different one. Kíli tosses one short arm around Thranduil’s lithe side, wriggles up tight against him, squirms coarsely-haired thighs against his own and hooks one knee over him, then fidgets and disentangles to turn around. He presses his spine flush against Thranduil’s stomach, worming his plump rear along Thranduil’s crotch, and when Thranduil does nothing to hold him back, he whines. Thranduil isn’t so prone to cuddling. He prefers, instead, to simply watch his Kíli spend the last of his energy on trying to flatten them as closely together as possible. 

Kíli eventually gives up on that, and he rolls back around to nuzzle his face along Thranduil’s neck, so much smaller as he is but still trying to share Thranduil’s pillow. He reaches around Thranduil’s shoulder to rearrange Thranduil’s long hair, pushing it back so Kíli has room to press a kiss into his shoulder. Thranduil indulgently pecks the top of Kíli’s head and wonders if this will be the final round for him. 

It isn’t. He squirms some more, young and full of movement but still a thoroughly pleasant consort. There have been times when Thranduil’s consciously tried to wear Kíli out, but to no avail—Kíli _needs_ to cuddle after. He runs his broad, searching hands along Thranduil’s back and noses against Thranduil’s chest, until, finally, he stills, with one thigh thrust between Thranduil’s and both his arms wrapped tightly around Thranduil’s body. Thranduil shifts one arm to thread his fingers into Kíli’s dark hair, and he strokes it idly while he listens to Kíli’s breaths fall more even and shallow. 

Thranduil watches Kíli sleep for a time, languidly enjoying the view and smell and touch and the heat of Kíli’s body, before he gives in and allows himself to follow.


End file.
